


But It's Not Even Halloween

by hippoprima, jaimistoryteller



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippoprima/pseuds/hippoprima, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller
Summary: This for some reason turned into a prompt fill that I couldn't end so I'm inviting other people to come and continue it who can hopefully give it rhyme and reason and a real ending because I hate non-endings.





	1. What is even happening?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know man, I don't know. - hippo
> 
> Filling the prompt “Okay, I can’t pretend to understand what I’m seeing right now. But whatever you’re doing, please stop.” for 007 fest. Supposedly a comedy.

 Q woke up to an ungodly ruckus in his parlour at 3am. His first thought was that someone had broken in and he almost fell off the bed in his haste to get out.

There are procedures for this, and Q was glad that he diligently ran through them every month so he knew exactly what to do as the adrenaline and fear pumped up his heart rate and wiped his brain of everything else. He rushed around his room first activating his distress signal in his phone and the tracker behind his left knee, then set his laptop on conditional self-destruct, and when whomever was out there still haven't made it to his bedroom, he grabbed his Beretta and cautiously edged out.

In the hallway, the first thing Q registered was the music. There was loud rap music coming from his parlour and a woman shouting along. Shouting, not singing, not singing off-key. Shouting. There was also a man present because Q could hear short bursts of his laughter. Pressed against the wall just at the corner where the hall opened into the parlour, Q could smell alcohol and perspiration. Q wondered if it was some neighbourhood hooligans but that didn't explain why or how they were in his flat.

Q chanced a peek around the corner and almost choked on his saliva in shock.

It was Eve and Bond.

He didn't know who was more ridiculous but Eve caught his eye first, being closer to him.

She was wearing a garish tracksuit in shiny, neon, polyester green with white panels and accents in bright yellow and electric blue. The outfit was so big she looked like a child playing dress up... in a circus gangster's clothes. There was a white Adidas cap perched backwards on the top of her head, kept in place by the power of her curly hair, and... very high red stiletto shoes and fishnet stockings. Eve hasn't noticed him yet, and was still shouting along to the music that was blaring from a very big, very old school boombox resting on his coffee table. When her enthusiastic hopping got her out of the way Q got an eyeful of Bond.

Being blessed with such a muscular physique, Q never thought he'd mind the day Bond wore significantly less clothes than his usual suits but it would seem that the day has finally come. Because horrors upon horrors, Bond was wearing a show girl outfit.

The whole thing was in red and sparkled whenever Bond moved. Starting from the top, Bond had on a headpiece that was half upside-down tiara, half feather explosion. On his torso he didn't so much wear as tied on a corset via the laces at the back because the corset itself could only cover the front half of him. There was a whole oversized cookie inherent to hipster cafes tucked into the left bra cup. Q later found out there was a small segment of grape stems wedged in the other one.

Thankfully Bond wasn't wearing panties or a thong or banana hammock or anything like that. He was wearing white boxer shorts that were faintly pinstriped and had strapped on one of those giant feathered tails over top of it, the kind that fanned out like a peacock's tail. Bond was dancing with all the awkward grace of a middle-aged white man imitating an amateur burlesque dancer and stuck his behind out to shake the giant tail every other phrase Eve shouted. Q stared as his short-circuited brain kept going back to the cookie, whether it was unbitten on the bottom half and how it was staying in place. It wasn't until Q saw the white socks and Adidas runners that he finally realized that Bond and Eve must have for some reason decided to switch clothes.

It still did not explain why they were in costume in the first place, or why they were in his flat, drunk off their minds, and getting him a noise complaint and possibly an eviction.

"Okay, I can't pretend to understand what I'm seeing right now. But whatever you're doing, please stop."

When the two didn't hear Q shouted over the music, "PLEASE STOP. TURN THAT MUSIC OFF."

Then Q utterly regretted getting their attention because being charged at by two lethal, drunk, sweaty, smelly field agents dressed like _that_  with the intent to embrace him was more terrifying than being chased off the ski lift that one time. He screamed like a little girl and made a desperate dash back to his room, and was only saved when MI6 bursted through his front door. This must be the fastest response by the organization in recorded history.

It said something about Bond and Eve's skill when they still managed to take down half the rescue team in their inebriated states though. But that might be because the said rescue team was too shell shocked at their appearances that they lowered their guns immediately. Looks like some retraining was in order.

The police also showed up, but were dispatched when the MI6 team finally got their breath back after laughing until they were crying. Soon enough, things were sorted out and Q was left with a half destroyed flat, two rapidly wilting _clowns_  on his sofa, and two angry cats hiding under his bed.

"This was not what I expected when they said 'the agents can get a bit out of hand'," Q muttered to himself as he tried to sooth his poor cats enough for them to let him climb into bed.


	2. Fuzzy Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve does not appreciate waking up on a strange sofa, next to Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from my lovely self JaimiStoryTeller.  
> Prompt from the anon list: Q is a stress baker.

The first thing Eve notices as she comes out of her drunk sleep is the fact she is sprawled across a sofa against another person.

Since she rarely picks anyone up and brings them home with her, that means something else must of happened and she's  bit fuzzy in the memory department. As she sits up and looks around she realizes she's in Q's place. No way she was sleeping with Q, too much muscle and not really lanky. Glancing down reveals that she was apparently sleeping with Bond. Well that's better, it's not a first time, probably won't be a last time, and both of them know the rules of the game.

As soon as she gets that figured out she realizes that the entire flat smells awesome, or at least a lot better than Bond and her.

Getting to her feet, she sways for a moment before making her way to the kitchen area where Q is currently kneading bread. Rather forcefully actually, is that good for the dough?

"Why are you baking?" She asks, almost croaking because of the severe case of cotton mouth she's got going on.

He points at the coffee pot without answering the question.

She grins at him, grabbing one of the cups set aside for coffee and pouring herself a cup. All of the things she could wish to add are in the cupboard directly above the pot, so she mixes some sugar and chocolate creamer in before close to inhaling it. Feeling a bit clearer headed, she makes a second cup for herself, which she nurses in comparison, turning around to look around the flat.

"What happened?" Eve asks as she realizes the entire place is a disaster.

"What happened?" Q repeats slowly, fingers digging into the dough. "You two happened. That's what happened."

Startled, her head jerks around to stare at the quartermaster as he continues to knead the dough. That's when she realizes that the majority of available counter space is covered in baked goods. A wide variety of baked goods. Wonderful smelling baked goods. She wonders how annoyed he'd be if she snagged some of the short bread she spots.

"Sorry?" She's not sure what she's saying sorry for. She was really plastered, but she's guessing waking Q up and destroying the flat is probably a good place to start with that apology. Where's his cats? "Where's your furbabies?"

"Hiding in my room, they are Not Happy about the state of my living room." He snaps, making it clear his cats really aren't the only ones not happy about this.

"I'll clean it up," she promises, hoping it sounds sincere when she hates cleaning, she has a service for that. That's an idea, she could call the service and have them send some people over. Almost immediately she dismisses that idea since she knows he doesn't like unknown people in his place. "Can I eat some of the short bread?"

Q glares at her but nods, muttering, "It's your fault I'm baking so much."

She grabs the bread and bolts to the other side of the flat with it before he decides that the rolling pin he's switched to using would be good on her hands. She'll definitely have to help clean up, and she'll make Bond assist her. After all, it was his idea for them to go out drinking, it stands to reason it was his idea for them to come here to. She's not sure whether she's happy they came somewhere safe while plastered or annoyed with herself for getting that drunk to begin with.

 


End file.
